


Keep Your Eyes Open

by pippen2112



Series: RvB Smut Week 2k17 [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anal Plug, Captured Wash, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Rings, Dirty Talk, Gags, Isolation, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Punishment, RvB Smut Week, The Mercs are BAD PEOPLE, Verbal Humiliation, Vibrators, hole spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: Four hours.  Four hours since they last opened the door.  Four hours since they last tried sedating him.But how long before that?Second installment of the Go Back to Sleep series.PLEASE READ THE TAGS THIS FIC IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART!





	Keep Your Eyes Open

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inthrall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthrall/gifts).



Four hours.  Four hours since they last opened the door.  Four hours since they last tried sedating him.

_ But how long before that? _

Bleary eyed, Wash glares at the cell door.  The lines swim and swirl at the borders of his vision.  The shadows dance, slithering around him, leaving warmth in their wake.  His cramped muscles drag him deep, anchoring him.  Wash shakes himself.   _ Keep your head up.  Keep you back to the wall.  Keep your eyes open.  Just a little longer. _

As if his token resistance will amount to anything.

Day after day, the merks have stuffed him full of pills, turned him into a hyper-aroused mess, and had their fun.  Were it not for the ropes crisscrossing his torso and binding his arms and legs in a loose but still restrictive hogtie, he might just fall to pieces.  Fuck, if he were anywhere else, he might just call it heaven.  But he’s here.  Tied up in a dark little cell.  And he can’t do a goddamn thing to change it except stay the fuck awake.

Digging his nails into his balms, Wash focuses on the single, concentrated pain instead of the tiny discomforts wracking his body and exhales.  He’s useless if he sleeps.  Everything he’s learned will be moot.  But if he stays awake, he can keep track of the mercs patterns, monitor how frequently they have to dope him, maybe even dodge a dose and feign sleepiness until he can get the upper hand.  He gnaws at the hard rubber ball gag in his mouth, a flare of want skittering up his spine without his consent.

_ And even after all this, some twisted little part of you still wants more?  How fucked up is that? _

Grunting, Wash fixes his gaze on the wobbling cell door.  Yeah, he’s fighting on every front, running himself ragged in the process, but if it gives him one tiny piece of control, no matter how small, he’ll take it.

#

Around hour five, he hears commotion outside the cell door, not long after the two-headed princess in a taffeta ballgown finishes dressing him down with more venom than a drill sergeant.  Which, looking back on it, Wash realizes probably didn’t happen.  The odds of there being a princess aboard a spaceship full of pirates, and in anything less than full power armor, that’s just… ridiculous.  Shaking himself, Wash scoots farther into the corner, his eyes trained on the door.

Noise means people, and people mean pills.

The cell door swings inward.  Wash freezes at the familiar sight of a medic in full armor carrying a pill canister.  A medic.  On familiar ground.  In armor.   _ Even fucked up on whatever cocktail they keep feeding me, they still see me as a threat. _  Satisfaction wells in Wash’s chest.  He lets his shoulder relax, his gaze turning distant and glassy.  

The medic approaches cautiously, pulling out the gag but leaving it hanging around his neck.  When he taps out that cursed little pill, Wash puts up a token protest, thrashing lazily and biting his tongue so he doesn’t moan when the bond’s cinch tighter around him.  But the medic grabs Wash by the hair, forces his head back, and shoves in the pill.  Wash shakes himself free long enough to wedge the pill into his cheek.  Bitterness spreads across his tongue, but Wash makes himself wait.  And just like always, the medic gives his mouth a half-assed glance to make sure he swallowed, then tugs the gag back into place.

Ten seconds later, the door slams, and Wash is alone again.  Slowly but surely, the bitter taste saturates his cheek, mixing with his saliva and spreading across his tongue.  Wash gasps and chokes on his own spit.   _ Don’t swallow, don’t swallow. _  Tears fill his eyes.  No, he’s gotten this far, he’s not gonna let this take him down.

Lolling his head forward, Wash resigns himself and grimaces as drool runs down his chin.  If this keeps him conscious, well, he’ll have to find it in himself to be grateful.  For now, though, his cheeks burn.

#

Almost two hours later, Felix waltzes through the door, smiling like an ill-intentioned puma, Locus following at a sedate pace.  Armored but not armed.  Damn, the one time he’s awake enough to get his hands on a weapon is the one time they aren’t carrying.  Or maybe they’re smart enough to check their guns at the door.  Maybe they’ve been doing so the whole time, and Wash has been too out of his head to notice.  Still, he stays slumped over, drool leaving a cold trail down his chest, pooling around his blessedly flaccid penis.  Thank God.  Looks like Wash’s body does in fact listen to him.  Sometimes.

Felix muscles into his space, nudging Wash upright with his knee.  Wash follows as best he can, but hobbled, he can only do so much.  Felix looks down at him, hums amusedly as he swipes his thumb across Wash’s sloppy chin.  “Well, this is new.” He crouches down to eye level, rubbing in the spit.  “Not gonna lie, messy’s a good look on you, Washy.”

As Felix retreats, chuckling to himself and wiping his glove off on his armor, Wash sucks in a steadying breath.  He can do this.  He’s gotten this far.  Today he can get out of here.  He’s lucid.  He’s thinking.  He’s ready.  Sure, his hands are bound behind him, and if he moves too much, the friction might set him off, but he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.  For now, he just has to play along.

Food tray in hand, Locus crosses the cell and kneels in front of Wash.  Using shitty plastic utensils, he cuts up the mean--an honest to God meal, meat that hasn’t been ground into submission, a pile of carrots and tubers indigenous to Chorus, and a thick slab of bread that looks so buttery, Wash nearly cries.  Locus nods to Felix, waits as Felix slips off the gag and as Wash stretches his jaw, then holds out a bite between his thumb and forefinger.

Wash stares.   _ The fuck is this game? _  He doesn’t know.  But after a few seconds, the aroma of salt and spices makes Wash’s mouth water.  His mouth tips open despite himself.  Only then does Locus press forward and slide the bite between Wash’s lips.

At the first taste, Wash sighs.  Fuck, how long has it been since he’s had a hot meal?  Not ration bars ground into a paste and spoon-fed to him while he’s barely conscious, but actual food.  Wash moans, swallows the meat, and stiffens when a hand weaves through his hair.  “Good boy,” Felix coos, petting him.

A wave of warmth rushes over his spine and pools between his hips.  Wash flushes.  Hard.  Fuck, he’s reacting!  He’s sober, or as sober as he’s been in days, and he’s still responding to these mercenaries.  THese monsters.

Locus pushes another bite toward him, and Wash forces himself to accept it.  Gets halfway through the meal before Felix makes another comment.  “See how good things are when you’re docile.  When you behave.”

Wash moves without thinking.  He snaps at Locus’s fingers, the armored gloves sending pangs through his jaw.  Screwing his mouth closed, Wash flinches deeper into the corner.  The hands in his hair tighten.  Wash jerks.  Locus grabs him by the jaw and forces Wash to meet his eye.  “Eat, Washington.  You need your strength.”

The calm, reassuring tone sends a shiver through his body.  His dick pulses.   _ Noooooooooooope.  _  Wash bucks harder, straining every which way.  He can’t do this.  Fuck.

“Felix!”

Wash blinks, his gaze darting to the merc standing over him.  Felix has one hand fisted in Wash’s hair, the other reaching for the small of his back, right where he keeps his combat knife.  Wash stills, eyes fixed.  If the knife comes into play, he can cut himself loose.  He just needs to get in the right position to grab it.

Locus rises swiftly and lays a firm hand on Felix’s arm.  “Disobedience met with unfocused violence will solve nothing.”

Scoffing, Felix yanks Wash back by his hair.  “Disobedience?  Look at him, Locus.  The sad little fuck is so broken it’d take an entire glue factory to put him back together.  There’s not enough sense left in this pretty head to train him.”

Wash glares reflexively, but when Locus’s head snaps down toward him, he blanches.  Shit, he’s supposed to be playing possum.  And now he’s reacting.  Like an idiot.

Locus hums softly, tilts his head, and whispers, “He’s not as far gone as he appears.”

Felix follows his gaze, dragging Wash farther onto his knees, studying him.  “Well, shit.”  He swipes his free hand through Wash’s drool again and scowls.  “He dodged a dose.”

“Agent Washington,” Locus says coolly.  “I would expect such behavior from one of the simulation troopers you choose to associate with.  But not from you.”

Rolling his eyes, Wash meets their dispassionate stares with his own rage.  His untempered wrath.  “Guess I’m just full of surprises,” he mutters, his voice ragged.

The mercenaries share a look, tension radiating between them before Felix puts up his hands and steps away.  Locus kneels down in front of Wash once more, grabbing his chin.  “You will learn, Agent Washington.  In this cell, we make the rules, and you will follow them.  Rule number one: you will take your medicine.  Without question.  If you do not, you will be punished.”

_ Punished _ , Wash thinks derisively as he collapses against the wall and Locus and Felix dart off into the hall.  What the fuck are they gonna do to him, strap him to the rack?  Pull out his fingernails?  Make him fuck a goat?  He’s already hit rock bottom.  Fuck, they made him so desperate to come, he  _ begged _ them, begged  _ them _ .  And then they tried to turn him against his team.  Bargaining a moment’s pleasure against his team’s safety.  Just the thought of it cools Wash’s fervor.  Without the drugs clouding his judgement, he’s got a firm grip on his self-control.

Wash scoffs.  He’s already hit rock bottom in this very cell, and his still here.  He can survive being “punished.”

Felix returns first, his helmet abandoned and his eyes harsh.  He pauses over Wash long enough to smirk at him, then hauls him up by his armpits without so much as a huff of exertion.  Tethered legs dangling beneath him, Wash bits his tongue to stop himself from reacting.  Before all this, Wash was no lightweight, and now this wirey bastard can tug him off his feet like he weighs nothing.  Wash panics.  How much weight has he lost?  How much work will it take to get back into fighting form?  How much harder will it be to escape?

Over Felix’s shoulder, Wash sees Locus hauling a chair into the cell, now clad in just his helmet, boots, and under armor.  Even without the extra armor, Locus is broad, not as big as Maine, sure, but he’d give several of the Freelancers a run for their money in terms of sheer size.

Felix makes an offended little grunt and shoves a leg in between Wash’s, effectively pinning him against the wall so he can crowd even closer.   Wash shudders at hot breath against his skin.  “Oh, you’re in for a treat, Washy.  Lo is good with his hands.   _ Really _ good.  Maybe if you behave, he’ll take pity on you.”

In lieu of responding, Wash spits in his face.  And when Felix doesn’t wipe it away and drop kick Wash, when he snickers and grinds his thigh into Wash’s groin, Wash stills.

“Enough, Felix,” Locus barks, now seated in the center of the room.  “Bring him.”

Felix jerks Wash up and over his shoulder, crosses the cell, and drops Wash face-first over Locus’s lap.  “Have at him, Lo.”

Wash gasps, trying to catch his breath, but given his precarious position, he can’t stop his brain’s spiralling.  With his hands and feet tethered together behind his back, Wash can’t brace himself against the floor, can’t do anything to stop himself from rocking back and forth like a pendulum, each  motion wedging his dick harder against Locus’s thigh.   _ No, just think about something else.  Anything else. _

Dispassionate hands work across his skin, rough and warm.   _ Locus _ , Wash realizes when Felix strolls into his line of sight and leans back against the wall.  It’s Locus dragging his nails down Wash’s spine, splaying his palms across Wash’s ass, cupping and holding Wash’s still-bound balls like he’s some race horse on the auction block.  He feels Locus moving, loosening the rope binding his arms and legs together, letting him stretch out, but his feet still don’t touch the ground.  And when Locus dips lower and traces the ropes around his groin, Wash winces.  _ No, no, no. _

“You’re gonna…” Felix trails off, angling his head slightly.  His face screws into something not quite dismissive, but not exactly attentive either.  “Look, all I’m saying is  _ that _ might send some mixed signals.”

Locus huffs and continues working.  Only when the ropes restricting his cock and balls loosen and fall away does Wash understand.  Locus is untying him, even minorly.  His gut squirms at the loss of sensation, but his blood still surges southward.  Wash would cry were it not for the head rush.  Of course, that feeling lasts for all of ten seconds until those calloused hands work something cold and unyielding up and around the root of Wash’s penish.

“The fuck?  Who the fuck--” Wash groans despite himself, every inch of him on edge. “--who the fuck finds a goddamn cock ring in the middle of a war zone?  Jesus!” He shrieks as those fingers pry at his asshole, teasing his rim and pressing in dry.  His eyes water.

Felix chuckles.  “Oh, just you wait, Washy.”

Wash tries to look up, but he can’t make the angles work. Instead, he frowns down at his belly button and sees his rosy red dick standing at attention and ready to serve.

There’s a cap clicking, and something wet presses against his hole.  Wash yelps, tensing every muscle in his body.   _ No, no, no.  Very not welcome. _  He clenches against the intrusion, but Locus pushes firmly until the tip breaches him.  Eyes tearing up, Wash fights against every inch, but in a dishearteningly short time, the something’s lodged inside him, the base settled against his hole and not budging.

A plug.  The mercs have a plug.  What the hell?

“Aw, you missed this, didn’t you?” Felix teases.

Before Wash can respond, Locus hums and strokes Wash’s ass in gentle even motions.  Voice pitched low, he leans down and says ever so plainly, “Washington, you are being punished because you lied about taking your medicine, because you bit the hand that fed you, because overall, you have been very,  _ very _ disobedient.  Standard punishment is ten swats per offense.  Today, you will count each hit.  The next time, you will thank me.”

Wash scoffs.  “Fuck that, ass--” The plug inside him starts vibrating.  Wash tenses again, but his shout spills out.  “Fuck!”

Vibrations cascade through him in waves, tearing him apart from the inside.  When he clenches, the plug sucks deeper into him, teasing his prostate and sending jolts through him.  And when Wash reminds himself that no, he’s not safely tied down in his quarters on the MOI, not under his partner’s careful eye, he forces himself to relax and the plug weighs against his rim from the inside.  The sensation radiates up along his inner walls, and the cycle begins all over again.  Wash winces and hangs his head.  Fuck, at this rate, they might actually make him cum.

_ Smack! _

Sharp pain skitters over his skin.  Wash jolts, instinctively shrinking back.  He gasps, momentarily distracted from the vibrator until Locus squeezes his ass and says, “Count Washington.”

Wash bites his tongue and shakes his head.  He’s not letting them break him.  Not today.  Not ever again.

Across the cell, Felix sighs.  He kicks off the wall, crouches in front of Wash, and tugs at the rope collar tied around Wash’s throat.  His airway cuts off.  Wash holds his breath, struggling to keep still as the vibrations continue uninterrupted.  His eyes squeeze shut when Felix twists harder, yanking him up until his back bows.  “See, Washy, this is what he’s talking about.  Lo’s got a thing about rules.  So let me boil it down for you: you do as you’re told, you get to breathe.  You don’t, then I guess we’ll have to find someone else to take your place.  Good timing though.  We just got a hit on the simulation troopers’ location.  Should have confirmation within the hour.  Won’t be as much fun, but hey, that’s war.”

No, not the Reds and Blues.  They don’t deserve this.  No, no, no.

“One,” Wash grits out as his vision fisheyes.

And as promised, Felix releases the rope, and Wash topples back into position.  Locus doesn’t hesitate. _  Smack! _  The merciless hit lands right on top of the previous one.

“Two.”

“Good boy,” Locus comments.

_ Smack! _

“Three.”

As the spanking goes on, Wash closes his eyes and shuts off his brain.  Thinks back to all his RTI training in Freelancer and before.  They covered conventional torture and interrogation but nothing like this.  Still, he can make it work.  He can adapt.  Hit by hit, Wash lets his mind slip away from the frustration, the humiliation, the pain.  He forces out each count, answering on reflex, letting his instincts work for him while he hibernates.  For now, Wash isn’t splayed across a mercenary’s lap, getting spanked like an unruly child.  He’s somewhere else entirely.

“Seventeen,” Wash counts, wincing at the deep-seated pain lancing through him, at the raw feel of his agitated hole.

The vibrator stills in his ass.  A whine wells in his chest, but Wash bottles it up.  “Eighteen.”

“Stop,” Locus snaps, digging his nails into Wash’s ass.  

Wash winces.  Seconds by second, he comes back to himself.  Why’d they stop?  He counted, right?  So why did they stop?  But try as he might, he can’t remember the last hit.  And his brain kept counting on autopilot.

... _ fuck _ …

“Felix, if you’d be so kind.”

Before Wash can catch up, Felix has his jaw pried open, two ungloved fingers resting on his tongue.  Locus cranes down, his under armor skimming across Wash’s skin.  “If you bite, the medics will double your dosage and start administering it by IV.”

Gaping, Wash searches Felix’s expression for the slightest flicker of dishonesty.  Nothing.  Instead, he smirks.  “If it helps, you can suck ‘em.”

Wash pales, remember the haze of drugs through his system.  On the original dose, he still had pockets of lucidity.  But if they start feeding him more pills, how much will he be able to hold on to?  How long before he loses himself completely?  Until the mercs make good on their threats against the Reds and Blues?   _ I can’t take that chance. _

Closing his eyes, Wash relaxes his jaw, holding Felix’s fingers between his teeth.  He can do this.  He will do this.  Locus pets him once more, whispers “good boy,” and turns the vibrator back on low.  “Keep counting,” he instructs, spreading his hands over Wash.

_ Smack! _

Wash clenches inside but forces his mouth to stay open.  “Sebetee.”

_ Smack! _

Pain uncurls along his skin.  “Eibtee.”

“Harder,” Felix calls over Wash’s head.  “He can take more.”

Before Wash can glare, another  _ smack _ , another surge of needling pain through his backside.  The plug nudges his prostate.  Wash keens.  “Nimetee.”

Felix snickers.  “That’s more like it.”

_ Smack! _  “Twemee!”

The next five hits come quick and firm, each landing on sensitive flesh, turning Wash into a twitchy, blubbering mess.  After twenty-five, Locus shakes out his hand and toys with the plug, changing the speed at odd intervals.  Within minutes, Wash can’t stop whining, can’t stop bucking into Locus’s leg even though he has no leverage and nothing to brace against.  He can only hang there and take it.  Felix even slips his fingers out of Wash’s mouth so he can rest his neck.  But that just gives Wash an up close view of his dripping red cock.  Fuck, his body is his biggest weakness, but he’s not begging today.  Not for the life of him.

Felix strokes a hand through his hair and says, “Look at you.  Just gagging for it.  But we can’t have that, not when you’re being punished.”  And just like that, the vibrator stops, but the plug still wieghs heavily against his insides, there for Wash to unconsciously squeeze around and bear down on.  

Exhaling, Wash wills himself still.  Five more hits, and they’ll leave him be. “Just get it over with.”

“Uh-uh, Washy,” Felix chastises, cupping Wash’s chin and grinning down at him.  “We’re not unreasonable.  With the right incentive, we can be persuaded to leave you be.  Maybe even cut your dosage.  Wouldn’t you like that?”

Eyes narrowed, Wash struggles against Felix’s grip to no avail.  He sighs. “What do you want?”

“What we’ve always wanted,” Locus answers tersely.  “Information.”

Wash scoffs, but Felix cuts in before he can respond.  “Nothing sinister, Wash.  Just answer a few questions, and this will all be over.”

A few questions, they say?  Sure, his ass hurts, his limbs hurt, his cock hurts, but Wash can’t help seeing the big picture.  How long will a few question be enough to appease the mercs?  How long before they ask questions he can’t bear to answer?  And how easily will he comply after one little step down the dark side?  One concession, and it’s a slippery slope.

Wash shakes his head.  “Just finish this.”

“Oooooh, poor choice of words,” Felix says, standing up and walking behind Wash out of his line of sight.  “Don’t forget to count.”

Before Wash can roll his eyes, there’s pressure against his rim.  Before he can blink, the plug is gone.  Before he can frown-- _ smack! _ \--the first hit lands full force against his hole.  Wash buckles, the breath sputtering out of him like he got kicked in the stomach.  Tears well in his eyes.  What the actual fuck?  “Twenty six,” he gasps.

_ Smack! _  He curls in on himself, shaking.  “Twenty seven.”

_ Smack! _  His balls draw up and his cock bobs, leaking like a goddamn slut.  “Twenty eight,” he whispers.

_ Smack!  _  Immediately after the hit, Locus draws his balls back, pulling the skin night and baring him for all the world to see.  Wash sobs, “Twenty nine.”

_ Smack! _  Aimed perfectly, the slap glances off his abused rim and over his balls.  “Thirty!”  But Wash barely recognizes the word amongst his shouts and shrieks.  Barely knows anything except scalding pain through his nethers.  But like the damn fool it is, his cock doesn’t even have the decency to wilt.  Cheeks burning, Wash coils in on himself, helplessly suspended as something warm splatters across his ass and Felix lets out a satisfied groan.

Long after his punishment is done, Felix and Locus leave him hanging there, shivering and shaking as Locus rubs soothing circles along his back, carefully avoiding Wash’s ass cheeks and the already- budding bruises.  Doesn’t even bother wiping Felix’s cum off his back.  But in due time, Felix steps back in front of Wash, pulling on his gloves and beaming.  He takes the medicine canister from his armor, dispenses one of those horrible pills, and offers it to Wash.  “So, gonna take your meds, or do we need to repeat the lesson?  Better hurry before I give ‘em a layer of glaze.  Y’know, to help them go down easier.”

Glowering, hating himself and his own stupid weakness, Wash opens his mouth.  Felix hums, pops the pill into Wash’s mouth, and holds his jaw shut until Wash swallows.  Even checks before ruffling Wash’s hair and hauling him off Locus’s lap.  “Good boy.”

As Felix sets him down against the wall, Wash hears Locus comment, “Control wants him in working order when they arrive.  We should milk him soon if we want to keep him healthy.”

“Later,” Felix says as he buckles the gag around Wash’s head.  “Like you said.  Punishment.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to inthrall for prompting this series and requesting the vibrator makes a reappearance. Additionally, I borrowed the idea of Felix gagging Wash with his fingers from a lovely fic in the Voltron Fandom ("Way of Loving" by DelightfullyHuman), though in *EXTREMELY* different circumstances.
> 
> Questions, comments, concrit, and suggestions welcome! Come scream with me on Tumblr (birdsbeesandlemonadetrees.tumblr.com)


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